So many colored faces in a crowd
set in 1960s
There was beats and poets
that rang and sang
of being black.
The stars could burn your hair off.
It was beautiful, sitting there in the crowd and
listening to the song.
never judge because
what is mine, is yours.
It was also about
from the ashes.
Old tunes that’ll turn you to stone
staccato shaking in them chords n’ bones
only black frames left behind.